


Seventeen Point Six Three Percent

by thorsvarme



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorsvarme/pseuds/thorsvarme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos pulls out his pocket calculator and calculates exactly seventeen point six three percent of their bill before tax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seventeen Point Six Three Percent

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on something Cecil mentioned in the 11th episode about pocket calculators being forbidden. obviously I thought of Carlos being a bid nerd with a calculator. this isn't really set with any particular time frame in mind.

“I have a feeling we didn’t tip as much as we were supposed to.” Cecil says worriedly as he unlocks the door to his apartment. 

“Um,” Carlos says as he follows Cecil into the apartment and settles on the couch. “How much are we supposed to?” he asks, pulling the receipt out from the inside his jacket. 

“Exactly seventeen point six three percent,” Cecil says matter of factly from the kitchen where he is probably pulling out a bottle of wine. Cecil loves wine, Carlos has discovered. 

Carlos pulls out his pocket calculator and calculates exactly seventeen point six three percent of their bill before tax. He’s trying to remember how much he tipped their waiter when Cecil gasps sharply and comes running out into the living room. Carlos jumps and his calculator slips out of his hands and to the floor while Cecil points an accusatory finger at him.

“ _Carlos!_ ” Cecil sounds outraged. 

“C-Cecil?” Carlos asks as he reaches down to pluck his calculator up off the ground. 

“What is _that_?” 

“Were you watching me with your third eye again?” Carlos sighs. 

“Answer the question.” 

“It’s my calculator.” 

“Is it a pocket calculator?” 

“I guess? Cecil I don’t-” 

“Carlos you _have_ to destroy it,” Cecil’s voice has dropped to an urgent whisper and he shuffles over to Carlos and first makes to grab the calculator, then seems to think better of it and takes hold of Carlos’s wrist instead. He shakes it roughly until Carlos drops the calculator. 

“It’s just a calculator-” 

“Pocket calculators are forbidden. _How_ do you not know that? If the Sheriff's Secret Police catch you with it you’ll be-” 

“Cecil,” Carlos says in a gentle voice, and cradles Cecil’s face in his hands. Cecil stops talking, his face goes delightfully red, and he goes very very still. He is so utterly beautifully perfect, Carlos thinks just before he kisses him. “I’ll be fine,” Carlos murmurs against Cecil’s lips. “We tipped eight cents less,” he adds. 

“Mmmph,” Cecil says and wraps his arms around Carlos’s neck, slotting their mouths together again.


End file.
